Surrender (to the better man inside)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He'd never really been good with goodbyes.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Because I needed to speak to my feelings after 6x03. Nicholas was bae, Glenn is bae, so I decided they should be bae together. *This fic will touch on aspects of the soulmate/soulbond trope, specifically the idea of last words being how you recognize your soulmate. – This fic takes a slightly au version of the dumpster scene where Nicholas is the only one that falls off the dumpster after shooting himself.

 **Warnings:** spoilers for 6x03, angst, drama, tragedy, adult language, adult themes, blood/guts/gore, soulmate au, unresolved romantic tension, minor character canon suicide, brief mention of Gleggie, allusions to the First World War: ptsd, combat, gassing.

 **Surrender (to the better man inside)**

No one ever just _found_ their soulmate.

It was one those awful divine jokes forever being played at humanity's expense.

Because the moment you found your soulmate was the same you _lost_ them.

If you were lucky to be with them when it happened. To have met them - _known them_ \- regardless if that was for fifty years or fifty seconds, your reward was getting their last words etched across your skin the same moment they passed. _Your reward was knowing._ Knowing you'd lost them. Knowing you'd lost what was supposed to be the most precious thing. Your other half. The one person that could most bring you peace in the world.

As you'd imagine, most people never found theirs.

Most people didn't want to.

* * *

It hadn't always been like this.

A long time ago, before the First World War, things had been different.

 _Better._

Back when you were born with your soulmate's _first_ words embossed in brilliant gold across your skin. So you'd know when you met them. So you could go through your life with the knowledge that someday you _would_ find them and the hope that it would be soon.

Some people said it was the gas. All that mist they'd pumped into the trenches and shelled across the churning mud of the old battlefields. Others said it was judgement. Divine punishment for the crimes humanity had wrecked upon itself.

He'd never really known what to believe. He'd just convinced himself from a young age that he would be the exception to the rule. That he didn't have a soulmate. Didn't need one. After all, what was the point of having a soulmate if they weren't going to stick around for the after-movie credits?

* * *

 _"Thank you."_

That was it.

Two words.

No apologies.

No panic.

No explanation.

 _Nothing._

He was just, gone.

Leaving him with nothing but the taste of warm blood and the whine of dying frequencies as his ears rang. Shattered by the closeness of the shot as the man's body gave into gravity and fell – a slumping dead weight. Almost taking him down with it as he clutched at it momentarily, instinctively. Fisting the olive-tan material like it was something precious as his heart tried to hitch itself through the half-dozen beats it'd missed when Nicholas had pressed that gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The important part – _the realization_ \- didn't happen until after. Until the walkers had Nicholas' body on the ground, tearing into it, and he was suddenly clutching at his knee through his jeans. Letting go of a shattered sound as he shoved his thumb and forefinger into the tear along the side and ripped the hole wide.

He swallowed the mouthful of red unconsciously. Sucking in a fractured sheath of air as his pulse pounded between his temples. Hand paused above the bare of his knee as the gold script glinted brightly through the grime of unwashed skin.

 _Thank you._

 _That was what he'd said._

 _What Nicholas had said just before-_

He wasn't aware of having moved until he was blinking over the lid of the dumpster, leaning down unsteadily as the walkers that couldn't reach tried to pull at his arms and ankles. Looking down through the blood and splitting skin as Nicholas' lax hand unfurled itself to the sky, Glock disappeared under the milling crush. Revealing the bare of his wrist and the sickly-sudden flash of gold script that stood out despite the tide of red trying to hide it. _Mask it._ Erase it like it'd never been there in the first place.

He was still looking when Nicholas' hand jerked upwards, held up by a trio of walkers trying to sink blackened teeth in the man's forearm. But he wasn't really seeing. Stuck on how the late afternoon sun caught on the blocky golden script. Familiar in a terrible sort of way when he recognized the catch of his own writing. Hurried and sloppy, just like it'd been for jotting down addresses or helping the cooks with orders while he was killing time before the next delivery.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, then another.

Chest iron-tight and squeezing as he fought to remain standing.

Legs threatening to give out as his eyes blurred with unexpected tears – blinding him.

It was like the world had just screeched to a halt and he was the only one that had noticed.

 _Past. Present. Future. Maggie._

Suddenly, in that one terribly ageless moment, none of it mattered.

The only thing that did was that single, bruised wrist held high above a mob of squirming, terrible shapes. Upheld like penance, like a prayer. Like even now the universe was reaching out to highlight what he'd never have. What he'd lost before he'd gotten a chance to really acknowledge as he watched his last words etch themselves across blood-misted pale.

" _Look at me! Hey! Hey! Nicholas! Look at me!"_

* * *

He'd never really been good with goodbyes.

* * *

 **A/N #2: ** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.


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